Page 14 of The Next Chapter

It’s my favourite pastime.

‘If we did go, we’d have to stay a couple of days.’ I scroll. ‘There’re two cottages in the gardens of the hotel. One is booked up all summer, but the other one is free for most of it. We could spend a few nights there and let the memoirs thing just come up naturally while we’re having a chinwag with Lola.’ I look up at Seb. He’s smirking. ‘This is a terrible idea, isn’t it?’

‘Sorry, I was just thrown by someone under eighty using the word chinwag. Yes, it’s a terrible idea. But now that we know where she is, can you imagine not going? Could you let someone else go and write this?’

I sit with the question for a second. I mean, I’m fine now. Totally fine. I have lots of friends. I have Seb. I have Elton. I only cry in the dark max one or two nights a week. And yes, there’s the time I spend crying at Mum and Dad’s bench to consider, but that has to be normal. So, I’m fine. I just thought I had time to deal with Lola at some other (far off in the future) point. But if she’s planning to sell her memoirs now… well, that changes things.

Plus… that’s what I thought about Mum and Dad, and Daisy Flanaghan, isn’t it? I thought I’d have more time.

How would I feel if Lola is sick, and I didn’t get chance to at least see her with my own eyes? To have one single memory that is real.

‘I think I’d regret it,’ I admit.

‘Regret gives you wrinkles,’ Seb says. ‘And you never know, you might decide you quite like her and you want to tell her who you are. We could get Davina McCall involved.’ He sits up straighter. ‘Oh, I know, we could get a balloon thing like people use for those awful gender reveals. Or the cannons, the cannon ones are the best. We could fill it with a banner which says, “I am your daughter!” And fire it at her.’

Seb catches my eye.

‘Or we could not do any of that.’

I take a deep breath.

‘We’re really doing this, then?’

Seb is gazing out of the window towards his car parked on the street. He loves that car. ‘Maybe I’ll finally find my lumberjack on the Isle of Skye.’

I know way too much about Seb’s lumberjack fantasy to be within the parameters of a normal friendship.

‘Thank you,’ I tell him through glassy eyes. ‘It means a lot. Not that it’s about me. It’s about the business. Obviously.’

He throws back the last of his drink. ‘Obviously. Wow, I can’t believe I’m going to meet Lola Starr. I grew up listening to Beyond Baton Rouge. I’m going to ask for her autograph.’

I throw a tassel cushion at him.

‘Right, that’s all the emotion I can take for now,’ he says, throwing it back. ‘For god’s sake, book the cottage and put Bake Off on.’

‘I’ll have to ask Mr Cains next door to watch Elton and water the plants.’

‘He won’t mind,’ Seb answers. ‘He loves that cat.’

The hotel website keeps crashing. It takes an awful lot of jabbing at it to get the booking page to load and stay loaded.

‘They have availability in two weeks.’ I cross reference with my social calendar. ‘I’m meant to be on a hen do then.’

‘You’re always on a hen do, they’re all you do aside from the exercise thing. And then there was that time you did exercise on a hen do. Awful.’

I ignore him. ‘I could cancel. I’ve only met the bride once.’

The thought sends an illicit thrill through me. I never cancel. Ever. Finding out about my long-lost Lola has sent me wild.

‘Why the hell are you going on her hen do then…? You know what, forget it. Just cancel and book the bloody hotel. Time is of the essence anyway if Kitty is already putting the feelers out.’

After another crash and reload, I click on the blue BOOK button, my confidence in the plan waning almost immediately.

Oh sweet Jesus, what have I agreed to?

‘What have I done?’ I ask Seb, wide-eyed.

‘You’re going to have an adventure, Lily Brown. And it’s about fucking time.’